Modus Operandi
by Ve12y
Summary: The world of FF8 with a semi-realistic military bend. Stuff happens, things blow up. Good times.


_Author's Blurbs: Yeah, been inactive for a bit. I'll eventually get around to completing stuff. Just decided to crap out this chapter because I figured "why not". If you don't understand the terminology used, feel free to wiki the crap out of it. It's not totally accurate, military-wise, but its as close as I'm willing to try in a world that has magic and flying dragon spaceships. There might be spelling mistakes and grammar pitfalls, but overall, it shouldn't be too bad to digest._ _Enjoy_.

"This is bravo-four-delta-mike calling sierra-uniform-november with a SITREP, over." The voice crackled into the headset.

A gloved hand grabbed the receiver, "Bravo-four-delta-mike, this is sierra-uniform-november, continue with SITREP, over."

The figure held her voice, pausing to brush a stray strand of pale blond hair from her face as the radio crackled with static. Finally the voice once again broke the silence, "Team Alpha has reached the rally point. Preliminary checks are green. Mission status is green. Ammo, food, and personnel are a GO. Over."

Letting go the breath she didn't remember taking, the figure leaned into the mic, "Roger, read you loud and clear. No changed parameters, charlie-mike. Over and out."

Silence greeted her, not that she expected much else. She had just given the go ahead to continue the mission. The next hour and a half would dictate if it had been the right decision or not. She looked up at her superior who had been watching her with an annoying neutral expression on his face and flashed him what she hoped was a confident smile.

It felt more like a grimace.

* * *

In reality, it wasn't that hot outside. To be honest, what really made it hot for Johnny was a culmination of things. The humidity, the constant back and forth pacing of his route, the rubbing of his combat uniform against his skin, and the fact that the entire route managed to dodge every chance of shade was probably the final nail in the coffin. Well, the last point didn't matter much, since the sun was setting, but it was still annoying.

He stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm as he reached down to grab a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket. He never saw the figure sneaking up behind him until a pair of strong hands wrapped around his head, one hand covering his mouth with a cloth as the other wrapped itself around his throat, twisting sharply.

Johnny heard as much as felt the crushing of his larynx and struggled reflexively, but he was already dying as another pair of hands grabbed his feet to assist in dragging him off to some secluded corner. He was gasping for breath he could not take and it didn't take long for his movements to become sluggish. Johnny's vision glazed over and the last thing he saw was a sharp eyed youth with a diagonal scar across his face routing through his pockets.

_He's just a kid…_

* * *

Squall Leonhart waited for the last of the man's death throes to subside before hiding the body under the tarp of the military truck, not wanting to risk to possibility of any noise that might attract attention.

"Hurry up." The voice of Zell, his teammate, whispered harshly from the corner. The young SeeD member was exposed and they had a limited time frame before the guard's absence was noted. Squall closed the distance with precision and was soon with his back against the wall next to Zell.

"Well? Did he have a set of keys?" Zell asked, his eyes wide with expectation.

Squall held up a pair of keys on a small key ring, jingling them lightly for emphasis, "Yeah, for once our intelligence was right."

The brawler nodded, "Seifer and Selph are in position."

"Well, I guess all that's left is to drop off our present and get the hell out of here."

Wordlessly they looked out over the compound from their vantage point behind some cargo boxes. The area was clear, but the two SeeDs knew better. The area was littered with cameras, guards, and sensors. Their objective was nearby though and as long as they were careful, they should go without any further complications.

"Okay, Zell, on my six." Squall whispered, "Remember: slow is smooth and smooth is fast."

The fighter nodded, his eyes twinkling in the shadows. Squall took a deep breath, steadying his nerves then pushed out, trusting on his teammate to watch his back. Squall moved slowly, but steadily, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

Had someone been looking, they would have seen nothing. Well, maybe if they had exceptionally sharp eyes and had been squinting, intent on catching something they knew was there. But there was no one covering the vacant sector with the subtraction of the guard they killed. So they were soon jamming the silver key into the lock, moving with the careful expedience of one in a hurry trying to do something without being noticed.

As the metal door swung open, the outside halogen lights brought to discovery of the weapons cache their intelligence had reported as being there. Squall couldn't help but be impressed, that's two snippets those bastards had been right about…

Miracles happen every day.

Zell pushed past his commander, dropping his backpack and going to work even as Squall took up position nearby the door's blind spot, closing it most of the way but leaving it cracked open enough to hear the approach of anyone. A light flared on, the small flashlight bobbing around in Zell's mouth as he continued rummaging in his backpack.

Out of the pack he pulled a block of C-4, a roll of det-cord, a cell phone, and a detonator. The man immediately located their target, a stack of boxes indicating high explosive ordinance, and got to work making a gift the members of the base wouldn't forget.

Squall hated this part of operations. The way time seemed to ebb even slower, his nerves stretched to the very edge as he waited, hoping that things would go the way they planned…because if they didn't…

Fate had sense of irony, because the tell-tale crunch of boots on gravel came drifting down to Squall's ears. The operative caught his breath, rapping gently against the floor to alert Zell of the problem. The brawler froze, covering his flashlight as his eyes glued to Squall and the door. They silently nodded to each other as the footfalls came closer.

There was a pause outside the door as whoever it was came across the slightly open portal. Squall judged the person's position mentally against the layout of the area outside and exploded into action. His feet slammed against the door, hoping to use the confusion and panic to buy a few precious seconds of time.

Luck was on the SeeD's side, because the door clipped the man's hand, his gun flying wide as Squall closed the distance with two powerful strides, his free hand already reaching out and grabbing the man's weapon as it swung back around. Out came his gun blade, the gleam of the deadly instrument flashing angrily before ripping out the man's throat, cutting off the cry of alarm in a single savage motion.

Squall caught the guard before he hit the ground, ignoring the warm blood that gushed from the wound onto him. The whole encounter had happened in a flash and he tried to not pay attention to the gurgling sound as the guard attempted in vain to suck in air, instead pulling the body into the room and letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor. He hoped that no one else had noticed the commotion. Seconds passed slowly as he waited for the alarm that was sure to come. Nothing. Squall let go a shaky breath as he nodded to Zell.

Zell had already gone back to work, only pausing briefly to glance at the man's body. With a final twist, the brawler was done. "Ready when you are, Squall."

Squall nodded and led the way through the twisted dark base, avoiding patrols and cameras on the way back out. It was easier to find a way out than a way in. They soon came to the perimeter fence and Zell pulled a thick blanket from his backpack, looping it around the razor wire. A quick boost and roll later and they hit the ground on the other side, going deeper and deeper into the forest, towards the ex-fil point.

Now they abandoned all pretenses of stealth and subtlety, breaking into a free run. As they dodged trees and rocks, Squall reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, holding down the #1 until it speed dialed the number stored on it. There was a tense second that seemed to stretch before a loud explosion rocked the surrounding area.

It was then and only then that Squall allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he tucked the phone back in his pocket.

* * *

Quistis Trepe allowed a small sigh of relief to escape her lips when Alpha Team called in, confirming success of the mission. This was her first mission as an operation commander and she had desperately hoped she wouldn't screw it up. It didn't help matters that the team she was in charge of was also her friends.

"Well done, Commander Trepe." Cid, the Headmaster of Balamb Garden, said as he walked out the command room. "Now get our guys back home and take a rest. You all earned it."

Indeed they had, and the thought had Quistis wincing a bit. Seifer and Selphie had planted evidence of Galbadia interference on the rebel camp, spurring the rebels to no doubt seek help from Balamb in the near future for this unprovoked attack. It was an entirely financial and underhanded mission, but in the end, they were mercenaries above all.

She rubbed her temples a bit; fighting back the headache she knew would form anyway. The paperwork and presentation she had to give could wait. She excused herself, walking through the sliding doors and down the myriad of corridors to the hangar she knew her troops would arrive in.

It was the commander's duty to see her troops safely home.

* * *

Squall leaned back against his arms and closed his eyes as the rumble of the transport lessened as it banked in to land. He felt the numbness that he always felt when the adrenaline of a completed mission wore off. As if to remind him, his shirt stuck stubbornly to his chest as the blood dried, filling the transport area with a smell that the others of Team Alpha had grown used to.

And, as always, Zell and Selphie were prattling on about everything and anything that crossed their minds. Even Seifer would interject now and then. Squall couldn't help but notice that they didn't include him, but that was to be expected. Now that the mission was over, it was back to business as usual. Squall found their mannerisms annoying, but as long as they didn't allow that to affect the mission, he wouldn't say anything.

"So, like yeah, you should have seen it!" Zell exclaimed, the straps of his seat holding him down as he gestured, "Squall exploded out at the man and totally sliced that dude up. Couldn't have done it without him."

"Hmph. We didn't have any action on our end. Some people get all the luck." Seifer's sarcastic voice cut in, and Squall fought the urge to roll his eyes though no one could see it. The man was still miffed about being chosen as second in command of Alpha team, losing out to Squall, and made every effort to let everyone know it.

"Ya, well, I was a bit busy myself, placing the bomb and all. So I was a bit happy that was all the action we got. Though I would have kicked ass with a bit more style."

"Wow, really? That's awesome!" Selphie exclaimed, causing Squall to open one eye to look at the young woman. He found her youthful enthusiasm and optimism at odds with their job, and above all, it was bothersome.

He felt the urge to say something. Maybe something like: "It got the job done. Style isn't a priority on the mission". Instead he kept quite. It really wasn't worth the effort. It was just the team dynamic of Alpha team and he had long ago learned to not fight against it. Then again, the dynamics were going to change soon.

They had lost their former team leader, Quistis when she got promoted, pushing Squall into her slot, so they were scheduled to get a new recruit soon. It went without saying that this wasn't an event they looked forward to. New recruits were a necessary evil. They could only gain experience by actually going out to the field, and yet, that was when the highest mortality rate occurred. The veterans of Team Alpha had seen way too many rookies die to just easily accept them.

"Quiet down you three." Squall finally said something, half surprising himself at how annoyed he was. He chalked it up to the eventual business of the newbie. "We are landing now and I'd like to make a good impression."

"What a suck up. It was a minor mission. It was just our squad, not like it was a big deal." Seifer countered.

Squall replied by opening both eyes and glaring at the blond haired man. There they stood for a few moments, an unsaid contest of wills, before Seifer finally had to look away, mumbling. In reality, the confrontational man was right. It wasn't a big deal. But it was a way to get them to shut up and Squall had let them irritate them enough for today. His exasperation quota was full.

Still, it worked because no one said anything after that. Thank Hyne for small blessings. There was a sharp jolt as the landing gears popped out and the plane gently touched down on the runway strip. The turbines roared, straining against inertia for a couple of moments as the plane slowed down to a crawl.

"Team Alpha, welcome back." The calm voice of Quistis said formally as they stepped off with their gear and the entire team braced itself for some bullshit motivational lecture. Then the blond woman's mouth broke into a large smile, "Seriously though, you guys did awesome out there. Intelligence said they've already picked up communications from the rebels asking for our assistance."

Squall frowned. Though Quistis was and always would be a member of Team Alpha in his mind, such a flagrant disregard of positional etiquette was a no go to him. She was an operations commander, and she should act like it while on duty. Still, he inclined his head. "Team Alpha reporting in, ma'am. Mission was a success. No loss of equipment, personnel, or intelligence."

The blond's green eyes sparkled, "Squall, no need to be so formal. Save it for the reports you are going to have to fill out."

When Squall didn't respond, she sighed, "Anyway, good job, and I suggest after the debriefing we all meet at my place and celebrate our success."

"Right on, Quisty!" Selphie and Zell pumped their fists in the air. Quistis was a pretty good cook so it was never a bad night when at her place.

"Sure, why not." Even Seifer accepted, much to the woman's surprise.

"What about you—" and Quistis's question died in her throat as they all stared at Squall's back, his hands tucked in his pockets as he walked away.

"I'll pass."

* * *

The first thing Squall did when he came home was pull off his shirt, dumping it on the floor of his laundry room as he went to go get a few things out from under his sink. Out came a dirty blue plastic wash basin and inside of it were the rest of what he needed: rubber gloves, stain remover, and a hard bristle brush.

He had taken to wearing dark clothing for this specific reason, rough in fabric and not prone to staining. Comfort had little to do with it, it was all about practicality. And this…well it had become a ritual of sorts. While on the mission, he was a focused warrior…and when he was alone...he cleaned his mission attire with almost obsessive fastidiousness.

A bit of hot water and cleaner later, he had dropped the shirt in, and after a moment of thought, took off his pants and threw those in as well, watching the water take on the muddy reddish-brown hue that he knew so well. Giving a brief sigh, he went to his room, throwing on a fresh set of identical clothing and then continued on to the next part of his post mission ritual as he waited for the clothing to soak thoroughly: cleaning the gunblade.

Any warrior worth anything knew the importance of a clean and reliable weapon. With practiced precision he broke it down on his kitchen table into the basic component pieces. Pulling a brush out of his cleaning kit, he began to clean. This was a bit of a guilty pleasure for the young SeeD member. The quiet contemplation and simplicity of such a simple task was soothing and helped him order whatever happened that day.

SeeDs were trained under the philosophy of "violence of action". The idea that when forced into conflict, responses and actions must be done in explosive, quick, and above all, controlled bursts of violence. This was achieved by repeated training, making such reactions automatic: muscle memory. This had the side effect of trivializing the gravity of the situation…until after the adrenaline wears off.

His mind's eye kept flickering back to the two men he killed this mission. The look the one gave him and soundless gasps of the other took a toll on the idle SeeD's mind. He wondered who they were, what their last thoughts were, if they had family, and a myriad of other thoughts. It was always like this when he killed and contrary to popular belief, it never got easier to do, just easier to write off. He had long ago forgotten exact faces and numbers, but the flashbacks would come at inconvenient times. Brief glimpses of life cut short, screams of death, and the eyes of the dead.

Always the eyes.

He shrugged mentally, best not to think too much about it. Thinking too much lead to bad things; washing off clothing by hand when there was a perfectly good washer and dryer in the next room was just one of those things. Still, he considered it a gesture of respect to those who were his opponents on the battlefield. He always considered all soldiers his comrade in that regard. Enemies change with the times, but the mission is eternal. They were just on the wrong side at the time, though he could admit that maybe it was more a symbolic cleansing of guilt.

He picked up the blade, now free of handle and took the brush to it with vigor, admiring the gleam as the brush broke through the crust of dried blood, uncovering more and more of the metal underneath with every pass he made. He made sure that the blade was then sharpened before moving to do the handle and revolver parts. With a fine brush he cleared away obstructions of dirt and sand, and then rubbed a bit of oil on a clean cloth, using it to leave a thin barrier on every part that moved.

An hour had passed by the time he looked up at the clock. 0235 greeted him, flashing its green message to him. With a bit of annoyance, he reassembled the gunblade, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure when the last part snapped into place. He swung it, testing for any deficiencies in balance.

Nothing was amiss.

Bracing his arm, cords of muscle stiffening, he pulled the trigger. The weapon gave off a muted explosion, the shock wave causing the blade to vibrate at an astonishing rate, increasing potential damage by a significant amount. Squall knew all he had to do was touch it and blood would be drawn. Eventually the hum faded and Squall did one last glance over the weapon to make sure he didn't miss anything. Everything checked out. The single round exploded would do the weapon good, the powder mixing lightly with the thin film of oil to protect the moving parts.

Satisfied, he put the weapon down on the table and finally looked up at the time. 0245 flashed back at him. He sighed, Squall guessed he had put off the dirty task long enough. Standing up, he went over to the wash basin. It was a muddy brown, obscuring even the blackened fabric under the water. He had just slipped on his rubber gloves when a knock came on his door.

* * *

Quistis Trepe, arms crossed, stared at the door as she waited for her errant team leader to answer. She felt one part annoyance, another part worry, and it was all topped off with a healthy dose of nervousness that she hadn't went through since she had been a teenager replete with all the hormones that it entailed. She was honest enough with herself to realize that she had a physical attraction to the young SeeD candidate, but she was wise enough to leave it at that.

Attractive guys were a dime a dozen, and she had better things to do than gush over men like a schoolgirl. Anyway, this was Squall, the proverbial brick wall. He probably wouldn't know what to do with a woman if they came with a manual complete with step-by-step diagrams. She could almost picture the quizzical look he would give trying to use such a book and had to cut her chuckle short when the door swung open revealing the person she was laughing at.

He wore the same serious expression on his face as he stared silently at her. Same old Squall. And then she noticed the rubber gloves. Squall Leonhart, Mr. Serious, was wearing gloves like a maid. It was one of those moments. Where both parties notice the same thing at the same time

Squall's eyes narrowed a bit, a silent reprimand that she wasn't to say a damned thing about the gloves and Quistis obeyed…except for a little smile that she had to cover with her hand. "Commander," he said with a nod of deference, "Is there a particular reason I'm needed at o'dark-thirty in the morning?"

"Just a few things I need to iron out with you, Squall. And I told you about that whole commander thing…it's just Quistis when we're off duty."

"Roger that…Trepe," Quistis frowned a bit but decided to let it drop. Last name was a step forward for Squall. "I thought you were holding a party at your place tonight?"

She shook her head, "No, we decided to move that to tomorrow. The mission was small but important for us, so the higher ups have given us a bit of leeway leave. Which is what I wanted to discuss with you, Squall. May I come in?"

The swordsman's eyes rose a bit at that, but he opened the door further, gesturing with an open hand for her to follow. Quistis took a deep breath, in all time she had been with SeeD, she had never had the opportunity to explore the den of Balamb's most reclusive operative. She intended to make the most of it.


End file.
